


A Little Glass Vial

by Jemzamia



Category: Heroes - Fandom, Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 14:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemzamia/pseuds/Jemzamia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When his accumulation of powers start to turn on him, Sylar finds Zydrate as the perfect escape</p><p>Written as a part of comment_fic</p><p>Written in 2009 and imported from my Livejournal</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Glass Vial

A little glass vial; something so puny and fragile that it was almost laughable that a killer now needed it to survive. That it was the only thing he craved, the desire for powers now subsided by the unendurable pain they caused, betraying their new owner. Sylar now understands how victims felt in their last moments; utterly helpless, lost and alone. 

An eternal amalgamation of these feelings now forever plagues his mind and body. Muscles shivering and aching with a pain so intense it feels like they are desperately trying to crawl away, disowning the body they belong to. Short, snivelling breaths are all he can manage as the air feels so heavy and tense inside his lungs he fears they may tear into shards, only to heal again in a flurry of ligaments and tissue, striking at each other at such a rapid pace that he just can't handle. Once filled with wit and cunning, his mind is now an empty wreck, desolate of all hope, self-certified glory and purpose. 

Sylar presses the gun against his anatomy, letting the gun go off and spark, but he doesn't go in for surgery like everyone else. Instead he just lies there, slumped against the wall, discovering all over again while people choose to anesthetize than agonize, even if their pain is no where near as great as his. It intoxicates his veins, soothing the nerve endings to sleep and making the endorphins kick into overdrive, giving Sylar a contented sleepy grin like a drunken child. His former self would have been disgusted at what he had become. A bitch to street-drug habit, taking the easy way out instead of fighting through the pain, figuring out a more beneficial solution. 

But what was the point? No one was here to tell him that. To hold his hand as he drifted off into a temporary euphoria. To help him kick the habit, powers or otherwise. So why pretend that he was content with who he was when all he knew now was that he was destined to be alone?


End file.
